


and the rest is rust and stardust

by badAquatic, orphan_account



Series: Trailerstuck [43]
Category: Homestuck
Genre: Age Difference, F/M, M/M, Prison, Teen Angst, Teen Pregnancy, mentions of past rape
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-02-01
Updated: 2014-02-01
Packaged: 2018-01-10 20:30:47
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 2
Words: 7,123
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1164199
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/badAquatic/pseuds/badAquatic, https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Intermission 2: So what exactly happened between Meenah and the Grand Highblood 16 years ago?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. misinformed

**Author's Note:**

> “You can always count on a murderer for a fancy prose style. Ladies and gentlemen of the jury, exhibit number one is what the seraphs, the misinformed, simple, noble-winged seraphs, envied.” 
> 
> \- Vladimir Nabokov, Lolita

**== >Be the nymphet:**

 

You aren’t a nymphet. A nymphet is a coquettish girl with a flat chest and childish looks. That’s a human thing as there’s nothing soft or pleasant about a troll prepubescent. It’s gangly and jagged, all angles and elbows. Like it even matters; you’re past that stage but not firmly in adolescence yet. You’re a teenager. A teenybopper. A youth. A minor.

Your name is Meenah Peixes, age 16, and your mother owes you big. It’s taken a day and a half by boat to get to the unnamed island off the coast of Chiquago where the Amethyst Institute is. Institute. What a joke. Your father’s worried yelling does more therapy than these asshholes. You don’t even understand why you’re the delivery guy. You’ve looked through the box (which you were told not to peek in but fuck it) and its just pictures of foreign landscapes, wilderness survival and maps, Kurloz and Porrim glaring at their mother as she takes another unwanted photo.

“He’s my moirail,” your mother informed you over Trollichum, voice only. “And even though we ain’t as tight as we used to be I can’t visit him. The pass I got should help yo’ with ‘em Amethyst motherfuckers.”

“Why not get _Dad_ to do it?” you growl.

“Yo’ know why.” And that was the end of it.

Moiraillegiance? _Please_. They haven’t talked in a near-decade now. But there was no weaseling out of this task because she told Dad. “It’s just a favor to your Mom, Meens.” your father sighed.  

 _“But_ _its Mirth Gras weekend!_ I was going with Aranea and Rufioh!”

“That festival is a menace. Every year all the young trolls in the city get knocked up or arrested.” Your father shook his head, “Just do this favor for your Mom and you can have your own party.”

“You’re smothering me!” You growl, “No one’s going to take advantage of me, _Dad!_ I’m not fucking _Kankri_!”

He growled louder and that was the end of that conversation too. You stomped to your room to inform your BFFsies you weren’t going to toilet paper Cronus’s trailer during the festival. You don’t see why you should do your mother any favors. Your memories of her are buried back in grubhood so all you have now are pictures and text. She won’t vidcall you since (according to her) it might not be safe yet (whatever that means).  

You go to the gates of the Institute and show them your pass. You’re escorted through the building. They’re constantly adding on; what was once a tiny prison is now a giant penal colony. You read up on the place on Wikipedia. Most of the population was coldblood trolls but a few warmbloods were accepted and kept separate. The guards, the warden, and the doctors were the only staff. Everything else was maintained by the prisoners: the farming, the cooking, the laundry, and other tasks. It was how Amethyst maintained its size and claimed chores helped rehabilitation. You call it cutting costs. The coldblood section is decked out for Mirth Gras. Inmates in reflective spray-on jumpsuits hang purple tinsel and paint the walls with grinning skulls. The only guards you see are escorting you. They take you to the exercise yard/garden where rows of intimates are watering crops and killing pests. You enter the garden and all the inmates shuffle off except for one; the largest one and the biggest troll you’ve ever seen.

 

He leans on his hoe and smiles, showing his giant fangs. “You shot up like a weed.”

You don’t have a good memory of the man, even back at the manor. The GHB was like having a sleeping bear around, volatile and perfect to test your courage with. You tried to play “Bait the Bear” once with him and your father snatched you, saying he’d thrash you within an inch of your life if you went near him again.

“Y-yeah…” You hold up the box. “Moms wanted me to give this to you.”

When you mention your mother, his eye twitches. He puts down the hoe, “Let’s walk, girl.”

You sit in old deck chairs on the terrace overlooking the garden. The guards are still nearby but they’re keeping their distance. You put the box on the table between you. “She wanted you to have this stuff. Nobody else would bring it.”

He’s looking at you with his shrunken eyes; permanently on guard. You expect a question about his ex-matesprit but instead he grins. “You must motherfucking hate coming here to see an old fuck on the most mirthful of days. Let me guess…you did some shit and you’re stuck doing good behavior?”

The blood goes to your face. “I-it wasn’t much…”

“Punch a cop?”

“Nah; wrecked his car with spray paint and eggs because he wouldn’t let us drink in the park. S’was stupid...” And totally not worth the pain in the glute community service. 

“Sounds like you know how to party, girl.”

There’s a playfulness to his voice that you know is flirtation. Older trolls have flirted with you but none of them were as intimidating and it’s exciting to know he’s interested. The sight of you on the Grand Highblood’s shoulders would make any asshole senior piss their pants.

You smile and look down, trying hide the fuchsia blush on your cheeks. “Like you wouldn’t believe.”

 

There’s visitors aplenty during the holiday. There are off-island visitors and some from other facilities. You see warmbloods and juveniles with older escorts. Seeing the juveniles with their bruises and large eyes makes you uneasy so you stick close to the GHB. He’s treated like the king here and why shouldn’t he be? He’s the biggest and the strongest. He treats you like an adult. He doesn’t hover over you except when assholes are eyeing you up. It doesn’t take much for him to scare them away. You can drink as much as you want too and no one cares.

Here, the outside world is an unpleasant myth and people make the most of what they have. You sit under an awning, watching fireworks and listening to live music, drinking bootleg booze from plastic cups. You stay much later than you intended and when you should have already hurried over to the civilian visitor’s hotel, you move closer to the Grand Highblood. You climb into his lap and kiss him.

He laughs, “Now you know that’s just inviting motherfucking trouble. A sweet little thing like you thinks she can handle me like you do those kits back home.”

“You’re underestimating me.” you purr.

Seducing an adult, especially one as infamously terrifying as him, is a point of pride. The GHB doesn’t hesitate or turn you down even though you’re nervous. When you get into the swing of things, you think the entire conjugal trailer may be rocking. When you’re done, you lay there panting and flushed with alcohol and arousal. After he showers, you lie next to him and touch the new growth on his left horn, knowing that’s where it broke off during the rampage. “Not putting your clothes on right away?”

“Pieces of shit.” He points to the jumpsuit crumpled on the floor. “They use the spray-on because it falls apart if you try to swim for it; leaves a nasty rash so people know you’re an escapee. That and they spray you with all sorts of shit.”

“Spray?”

“Some new biotech from DynaCHEM. Testing identifier pheromones on us before they apply them to human prisons. The trials for them fucking suck; I still have scars from the hives.”

“Why bother with the tests if they’re miserable?”

He smiles a wide crocodile grin as his cold hand cups your heftsacks. “Experiments are how the prison makes its money so there are incentives to do them. The more you do, the more perks you get. I’ve done so many I’m Snowman’s darling. I can do whatever I want.”

“Have you done all the tests?”

“Are you curious?”

You have sex a second time. You’re not worried about getting wriggled. Fuchsiabloods are snail slow to reproduce. After you’re done he admits, “I’ve done every test except one.”

“Why not?”  

“Too dangerous. Even for me. I do it, I’m not coming back, gills.”

Late in the night, you sneak away from the trailer and join the long line of matesprits and boyfriends heading back to the visitor’s center, clothes rumpled. You’re in the minority of those not bruised or having druggie scarring on the arms.

 

You go back to New Jack City and things aren’t the same. You ask Aranea how Mirth Gras was. She got sick on the Haunted Jazzband ride and went home early. Rufioh smoked joints with Damara and then made out with her while Horuss was taking Meulin to a clinic because she’d smoke some bad nip along with half of the class (there’s suspicion Damara had something to do with that but no confirmations yet). Rufioh’s in the barkbeast hive with Horuss over making out with Damara. Same as always.

Aranea asks if you met or saw that serial killer who ate people’s faces. You say you just delivered the items and stayed at the Visitor’s Center. She asks you if you’ll come over later but you’re not sure. Your pale quadrant’s in a flux, unsure if you want permanent red or not. Aranea skitters around the subject whenever you bring it up. You go home and try to sleep through Kankri and your father arguing about his erratic school attendance. Your prison visit wasn’t as loud and profanity filled.

Months go by. Institute deliveries become a routine thing: feign hating the task but proclaim you’re trying to get closer to your distant mother, arrive at Amethyst for two nights of fun with your handsome highblood. The first step is the most crucial because your father would flip if he knew the truth.

“Do you ever miss the outside world?” you asked the GHB one warm evening.

“Only the people in it.”

“I don’t blame you. New Jack’s a shithole.” But saying New Jack is a shithole is like saying water is wet. “Being here with you is like a different world.”

“It’s not. It’s a cage with pretty ornaments to make things bearable while people gawk at you; like a terrarium.”

He tells you how he kept a terrarium of small beefgrubs when they went into space. It was the only way to secure a constant source of protein in case the LNF went down. You ask him what an LNF was and he casually says it was a limited-nanomachine-factory which replicated food for space voyages. You ask him what happened to that technology and the GHB shrugs and says it was lost along with other things that could’ve made this shitball planet bearable. He adds that on Old Alternia you would be a princess, with power over life and death. You ask him what he means but he kisses you and says not to worry about the unobtainable past.

Summer ends and you see him far less. You get little deliveries, surprisingly accurate pictures he drew of you from memory. The return to school does not improve your home life. You rarely see Kankri, who now walks with overconfident swagger. He must be getting laid; no virgin walks with such sexual boldness.  

When he waltzes into your room, his eyes are slanted with curiosity and he’s grins, “Going to see your boyfriend?”

“He’s not my boy—” You stop and glare at him. “Piss off. I don’t want to talk to trolls that dress like they’re twelve.”

He does look excessively childish with his long baggy sweater, hidden short pants, long socks, and colorful sneakers. He even pouts like he’s a kit, “I ought to tag you for saying such hurtful things about the way I like to dress, Meenah. I’m going to let that slide though. And don’t give me that coy look. That only works on Dad. You got the stink of purple even though you don’t see _him_ that often.”

His language’s gone to shit too. Kankri was always obnoxious but not like this. “Why do _you_ know what purpleblood pheromones smell like?” He blanches, “Who is it? Kurloz? Phaxin?”

“What happens between me and my matesprit is private!” Kankri growls.

You roll your eyes and tie your ratty sneakers. “I’m sure he’s your matesprit, just like my rings are _real_ _gold_.”

 _“He is!”_ A snarl now. “I flush him and he flushes me more than you could imagine. At least my man isn’t locked up; mine’s free and clean as snow.”

You yell that no one in their right mind would fuck him and that his ‘man’ is probably an addict or outcast highblood with a limp bulge. He yells back that your boyfriend is going to die from all the tests. After several years of peace, after racing along Kankri in the demolition derby, after some brief camaraderie, you get into a _serious_ fight with Kankri. You kick, scratch, bite, snarl, and head butt. He may have bulk on his side but you’re stronger. You flip him on his back and Kankri yields, curled up on his side.

Only when the fight’s done, your father comes in the room, demanding what in the shit is going on. Kankri stands, bruised and limps out of your room. You spit fuchsia blood and say Kankri was just being a pain in the ass. Your father won’t push you on that. You know he hates Kankri too; even more now that they’re back to bickering. Though you should thank Kankri; if it wasn’t for his antics you wouldn’t be allowed so much freedom.

But this latest favor you’re not looking forward to because you have to talk to Dolorosa Maryam, the GHB’s ex-matesprit. He said he broke off their relationship the day he entered Amethyst, but you’ve always been skeptical.  

“If the UTC government knew I had a loyal matesprit, they’d harass her and suspect her of anti-human sentiments. So I broke it off and told them that they were insane to think any lowblood would willingly quadrant with me. I’m the motherfucking Grand Highblood. No one’s going to dispute me on me forcing her.”

“But wouldn’t there be evidence she was happy with you? That you never abused her?” you ask, “The pictures you took, the people who hung around you?”

“You’d be surprised how many ‘happy’ couples put on a good façade, out of social obligation or fear. The UTC government isn’t too smart since they chalked up our relationship to capture-bonding; what the humans call ‘Stockholm Syndrome’.”

“Were quadrants that uneasy on Alternia?”

“With mandatory pailing? Of course. Quadrants were rife with paranoia.”

You consider his actions noble, if a bit drastic.

The Maryams lived in a dual-trailer on Tate Street, shared with the Serkets. The dual-trailers are eyesores and the symbol of truly being trailer trash. If Kurloz wasn’t so intimidating and Rufioh so popular they’d be the target of non-stop teasing and bullying. When you arrive at the trailer, a purpleblood is leaving. He’s wearing a pinstripe suit and neat hair, slicked back and plastered down with rubber cement. He smirks at you as he walks to his luxury car.

Miss Maryam stands in the doorway, eyes narrowed. “I assume you are here for a favor.”

She doesn’t mention the man. Her coworker? A boyfriend? No, Kurloz would be snarling about a man getting close to his mother…unless he didn’t know. You mutter, “I was told you had something to deliver.”

“Aren’t you the little saint? Helping me keep in contact with that man?”

She never mentioned her (ex) matesprit’s name; only referring to him as “that man”. You can’t figure out her tone. Is she calling him “that man” to show her past flush has frosted over or because saying his name hurts and she desperately misses him? You don’t speculate too long because it makes you feel more like ‘the other troll’.

Dolorosa Maryam adds more tape to her care package. “They put him in prison to keep everyone safe, they say. Ha _,_ and double ha. He’s allowed health care, visitors, good food, and the respect he’s always wanted. A modern prison is a resort for someone like him.”

“Yeah, but they do those horrible tests too—” but you’ve said too much and you clamp your mouth shut.

Miss Maryam looks at you and says, casually, “How stupid do you think I am? It’s no surprise he’d pick you for his bulgewarmer. He was close to your mother.”

Your face is flushed. “I-it’s not like that. He talks to me. We’re friends.”

“Of course you are, and I’m a broodma attending the Mother Grub.” She shoves the box in your hands. You’re shaking. “Get to it, concubine.”

You’re practically running away from the trailer but you should be thankful. At least she didn’t call you a whore. A concubine has higher standing. You still fret to the GHB about Dolorosa knowing, but he’s just as relaxed as she was.  

“Of course she knows. You think _anything_ can get past that woman?” he says, “She’s my ex. You don’t see her coming here, do you? Don’t worry about it.”

Even knowing that, you still feel nervous about her. The Dolorosa’s eyes seem to just look through you and she’s incredibly passive-aggressive about it. She never directly asks about “that man”. It’s always a comment about how he’s living in the lap of luxury in prison, or a complaint about Kurloz dating that “witch’s daughter”. You’re happy you’re only getting this treatment from her, as Kurloz is too distracted to wonder why his father’s scent is on you. 

Things at home are the usual—screaming matches, rough and tumble arguments—until autumn, when Kankri suddenly moves out. You arrive home to find Kankri dragging his bags to a car. Your father is on the porch, shouting for him to get the hell out. Kankri gives him the Vantas Double Salute and leaves in the car. After that, you don’t see Kankri at school anymore. You’re irritated and not because Kankri is missing.

Your father’s starting to worry about you and (worst of all) has started questioning you. Where do you go every weekend, Meenah? Why do you stay at Amethyst for so long? Why are you suddenly Dolorosa’s errand girl? The last one is the most suspicious because he hates Dolorosa Maryam. You’re still able to go to Amethyst though because your father doesn’t think that’s anything to be suspicious of. Yet.

“I don’t know how long I can keep this up.” You admit. The arrival of winter is more obvious at Amethyst. Snow is on the ground and frost is on the windows. You can tell the GHB’s not used to the cold as the heat is cranked up in the conjugal trailer. It’s difficult for you too.

He smiles, “Tired of the secrecy or coming to see me?”

You smile. “I’ll never get tired of seeing you.” But you know there’s no way your father would understand if the truth came out, “You’re stuck here though.”

“I might not be.”

“What do you mean?”

He grins. “There’s a possible way out.”

He explains that as long as he continue his good behavior, it’d be easier to bribe Warden Snowman to let him out. There’s no way he could go back to the UTC but he could live in one of the Capricorn Brotherhood’s hiding spots in New Mehico or Leder. You don’t know much about the latter; only news reports of human and xeno rights violations, the segregated schools and species specific ghettos. It was like living in the dark ages.

“Leder’s a shit hole.” you say.

“It is but it’s the closest place and from there you can go anywhere. Shongolia. Indie. Chinacan.”

“It would take a long time.”

“Probably just as long to finally leave this place, pending nothing happens.” 

“Would you forget about me?”

He pulls you closer to him. “Please, girl. I’d take you with me for the adventure.”

It sounds so much better when he calls it an ‘adventure’. You go back home and immediately start reading up on New Mehico and Leder. Neither place is charming in live in but you’re a Niner. You can survive anywhere.

 

Winter Holiday comes and goes and now the frost is melting, turning everything into mud. Kankri’s been gone for six months now. Your father comes into your room, not bothering to knock.

“Go and stay with Aranea for a while.” he says. “I have some business to take care of.”

You look up from your New Mehican textbook. You’ve been taking a cultural class for senior year, complete with lessons about language and traditional culture. “What are you talking about?”

“It’s not going to be safe here for a while. I don’t want you getting hurt so you’re staying with Aranea.” The look on his face is serious. There’s no room for argument.

“Dad, what’s going on?”

“Meenah. You’re leaving. Now. I’ll call you when it’s safe.”

You get off your daybed and go get your luggage bag out of the closet. “I don’t see why I can’t stay with Mom. Maybe she should get off her ass for once and actually _do something_ for me.”

“Don’t talk about your mother like that.”

Your response is a growl. You’re always ready to leave at a moment’s notice, in case you get the message from the GHB that you can clear out. You head over to the Serket-Maryam dual-trailer. Dolorosa Maryam doesn’t say anything to you but she has a gloating smirk on her face. Mindfang is more accepting of your presence. You think she’s trying to get Rufioh to hook up with you. You can’t blame her. Who wants grandkits that are half-sweaty and have a wriggle-on for hoofbeasts or are incredibly slutty?

You spend the week hanging out with Rufioh, smoking Alternian pot, sometimes cutting class, playing football, and practicing Mehican. Three weeks later you get a call from your father saying that it’s safe. When you return to Weatherborn Lane, your trailer is riddled with bullet holes and two of the windows are covered up with wood planks. Your father is sitting on the porch, holding a gun, and has fresh scars on his knuckles and face. Sonny lies at his feet.

“Dad…?” you mutter, looking at the scene.

“Go inside with your brother.” he says quietly. 

Inside, bullet holes have splattered the walls. Furniture has been tossed aside and dishes smashed. You feel like you’re on the set of Kill Troll Bill when The Matesprit fought Copperhead. Kankri is shuffling in the kitchen, pale and exhausted. He’s gained weight and has noticeable bruises on his arms and throat. His right eye is black. His clothes are old and bulky.

He doesn’t make eye contact with you as he mutters, “Dinner will be ready soon…”

From then on, Kankri is the perfect son. He attends school, keeps quiet, and is obedient as possible. There’s a different tone to Kankri and the Signless’s fights; they still hiss and snarl, but it’s never a publicized fight. The arguments are always behind closed doors now and soon the daybed starts creaking. At least your father is distracted with Kankri again and you can still get to visit your matesprit in prison.

“I’ve been practicing my Mehican.” You tease, lying in your matesprit’s lap.

“We might not end up there, but it’s always useful to speak more than one language.”

“Do you speak any other languages?”

“The only languages that matter here in prison are Alternian and some Shongolian. There are plenty of immigrants that wind up here.”

“Would you ever go to Shongolia?”

He considers it, “I’m not sure. The Archduchess is a huge bitch even though it’s her parliament that has all the power. She’s just a spoiled figurehead.”

“You read the news?”

“I keep my mind trained on things that matter.” He grins, lighting a blunt. “Have to learn your way around stuck-up royals when you’re in an army. They’re the motherfuckers who keep your boys housed and fed. Best to kneel and let them think they’re in charge rather than put up a fight and have a mutiny of thousands.”

He tells you about conquering planets neighboring Alternia; of the creamy light blue sky to match the flat rocky landscape. There were tawny trees shaped like baskets, with protruding fronds like colorful corals. They had to wear masks to tolerate the soupy noxious air. Its natives were blue-skinned giants, thirty feet tall, hairless, lidless red eyes and gills. He said the _Empire_ (the word always said with an air of pride) wanted a mastery of their educational tech for the rearing of their grubs, small golden headbands with baubles that beamed information into the thinkpan.

 

“What was the planet called?”

“So many sweeps ago, girl. Laloux? Topor? Wul? Those were the planets we conquered and most of them similar.” He shrugs and inhales marijuana smoke. “It’s all in the past now.”

You wish you could go into space and see all the planets like he could but it’s an impossible dream. Faster than light travel and survival in space is lost technology. If there was a map for where Old Alternia’s galaxy was, it’s long gone and the Troll Jackson Pollack splatter of stars in the sky offer no clues.

These days are a lot more tender, more kissing and purring. It’s a surprise with someone as scarred and jagged as he is. He even knows the history of all his scars. He got his scar fighting off invaders. He earned this scar culling the previous Grand Highblood. There’s a millennia of history on his skin. You ask him how old he is. He says he’s very old. You ask him how he’s lived for so long, longer than possible for a purpleblood. He says it’s a tyrant’s secret. You ask him how long he’ll keep living and he just kisses you until you’re too distracted to think about the massive gap in your lifespans.

Your happiness swells and then immediately starts crashing down, step after step. It starts in the late spring when Kankri tries to jump off the roof of the school building. It’s a circus at the school; security officers trying to get him down, people begging him not to jump, Kankri in tears and threatening to jump if anyone comes closer. Your father has to ascend the stairs to the rooftop and coax Kankri down. By the time he comes own, Kankri’s a sobbing wreck. You try to blend into the crowd and avoid making eye contact with your father and brother.

After that, Kankri drops out of school. You’re dogged by questions about what happened, the worst coming from the guidance counselor. Was there trouble at home? Did he lack friends or have trouble making them? Did he feel unloved and unwanted? _All of the above you fucks,_ is what you think, _You’re just now getting a clue that he’s a friendless hypocritical “social justice” loser?_ For sanity’s sake (and to keep these fuckers out of your hair) you polish the ugly portrait of Kankri’s social life. Kankri was a recluse; a misunderstood genius who longed to express the plight of New Jack City’s lower class. He was tormented because of his high intelligence and was afraid to stand out. At home was when he really shined. You vomit this story up so much it’s soon taken as dogma and the rumors just spiral their way out of control after that. Kankri was a perfect novelist, hiding from the world in his broody writing moods when the need struck him. He’d been recommended to attend private school because of his skills but almost cracked under the pressure of being a lone genius in a dull public school setting. You wish you could tear down such obvious lies but for the sake of your freedom, you smile and swallow the bile.

Kankri isn’t at any school in the east or a reclusive genius. He remains inside his room while your father locks up every knife and anything poisonous in the trailer. Everything in the trailer has been buffered and made ‘safe’. It’s eerie and you spend less time at home and more with Rufioh and Aranea. You get into a lot of fights with Damara and her creepy stalking. You have no idea why Rufioh puts up with her.

Midsummer you finally go back to Amethyst, this time delivering more letters and pictures. While you’re walking through the compound, you’re greeted by the same troll with the slick-back hair and fancy suit.

“So, you’re her. The other woman. Other _girl_ is more like it.” The smile he gives you is less than encouraging. You keep your distance. “Are you even legal?”

“I’m 16.”

He chuckles. “A regular Troll Humbert Humbert.” You try to walk around him but he blocks you. “I have a business proposition.” You show him your teeth. He counters your intimidation with collective calm, folds his arms. “A Niner, right? What do you plan on doing with yourself after school?”

You have no idea. “Treasure hunting.” you offer.

“That doesn’t sound very secure. Wouldn’t you like to go out in to the world and make something of yourself? Get out from under your father’s thumb and away from your crazy brother?”

You bristle, “How do you know about my family?”

“Meenah.” The smile widens, “It’s my job to know these things. What kind of a boss would I be if I didn’t know?”

“Stay away from my family!” You defiantly snap your jaw at him. He shrugs nonchalantly and ambles off.

When you tell the GHB about this, the older troll shrugs. “Of course Capone knows about your family. It’s his job to know. He runs the Brotherhood and the Brotherhood helps run this prison.”

You’re not sure if you should tell him about Capone nosing around his ex-matesprit. “Why trust him? He seems shady.”

“All men of that nature are shady, Meenah. They’ve all done terrible things. I’ve done terrible shit and that never stopped you or anyone.” You grimace and he pulls you close, “Capone can move about in the world without an issue. I can’t. He’s the future I can’t bring.”

“Where’d you meet him?”

“Some bar, somewhere. I think this was about the late seventies; spent my time roaming around before settling in the nineties. 2078? That sounds about right.”

You think of Capone coming out of the dual-trailer. “So the Dolorosa knows about him being Brotherhood?”

“Yes; can’t keep the truth from Dolo for long.” He sighs when he says this, “Capone checks up on her for me. I wouldn’t give the duty to Vinnie. All he’d do is walk by the trailer to see if it wasn’t on fire and pick up some apes with his new car.”

“I’m sure he looks after her.” But now you’re worrying. Has Capone been telling Miss Maryam all about you from day one? Or do they talk at all? Does Capone pull her into his arms and bunch up her dress so he can get to her nook faster? Does he push her down on the couch? You can hear the gasps in the air, the soft panting of a close climax. You imagine Porrim fingering herself, listening to the noise. You’ve caught her doing that during your long stay; panties on her knees and fingers in her nook with the other hand around her bulge. Your thoughts are scattershot during and after sex. All you can think about are the tips of Aranea’s breasts and how big Kurloz must be. If you had the opportunity, would you fuck both father and son at the same time? You might not stand for weeks but, Blood and Haze that sounds worth it.   

You fuck a lot and leave Amethyst feeling out of sorts. The sudden arousal and warmth is gone and you’re left with the delirious afterthoughts, like a bad hangover. You go back home to a dark trailer. It’s late and you’re dead tired and your stomach’s not in the friendliest of moods. You got motion sick on the train and your head’s throbbing.

“What are you thinking?” Your father is in the dark trailer, waiting for you to come home.

“Sorry,” you mutter, “The train was late—”

“Don’t bullshit me.” He growls. “I know what you’ve been doing. With him. Of all people, Meens! _Why that fucking bastard?_ ”

You stare at him. “I don’t know what you’re—”

 _“The Grand Highblood, Meenah!”_ He shouts, _“You’ve been fucking him!”_

He’s never shouted at you before, not since you were a kit and he’s never looked so livid. “I-I…” How did he even find out? It must have been Capone, that slimy fuck. You wouldn’t hear his deal and he blew the whistle; and that bitch Dolorosa must have confirmed it.

You stammer, “I flush him Dad. I flush him more than I can bear.”

“No you don’t.”

“Dad—”

 _“NO!”_ He barks. “Meenah. You’re too young. Your brain is confusing hormones and sexual impulses for love. That man doesn’t love you like you love him.”

“You’re just saying that because you hate him! You don’t know him like I do!”

“Meenah, listen to me. Listen to me _carefully._ ” he says, as gently as possible even though he’s still growling, “You’re from a different generation. You’re _too_ _young_ for that bastard...”

 _“FUCK YOU!”_ You scream in his face and run out of the trailer. 

He doesn’t chase after you. You stumble to the Serket-Maryam trailer, sobbing. You vomit on the way there. You’re in a disgraced state when Miss Maryam opens the door, a wine glass in one hand and skepticism on her face.  

“One in the morning and there’s a weeping child on my hivestep. Things never change.” she says coolly.

“W-where’s Aranea?” you blubber. “I-I need to see…Aranea.”

“Out. Summertime is almost here and they’re enjoying themselves. Mindfang is perched at the slots. I think you’d prefer it that way, child, rather than have them see you in this sorry state.”

She’s always been a nurturer, even back at the manor. When you were too sick or knew your father was in a bad mood, you could always come to her. You’re whimpering, sick to your stomach as you put on Kurloz’s old clothes since yours are sticky with bile. You sit on the couch, hiccupping. When Miss Maryam comes back, she has a small plastic bottle with her.

“It always happens.” She recounts with no sympathy in her voice, “Everything is fine until the guardians find out and then it all goes straight to hell and here I am to mop what has been spilled.”

You scrub your eyes. “I can still leave with him…if I want…”

“Leave with him?” She tilts her head, “My dear child. What makes you think you were going to leave with _him_?”

You glare at her. “He told me.”

“Of course he told you that.” Her eyes widen. “Or did you just assume he’d take you along? You just assumed you’d be the one he takes? _Dear_ _child_.” She pats your shoulder. “My dear matesprit appreciates what you do, but you are one of the many he strings along. Consider yourself paste-pearls on a necklace string and myself the diamond. You are required to hold things in place, but you are not the treasure. If you break from the chain, there will only be momentary peril before another comes along.”

She’s talking to you sweetly, as she always has but there’s malice in her honeyed voice. “You’re wrong…”

“Child, do you ever think? Did you even find suspicion in how accommodating I am to you? That I knew very well you were servicing my matesprit like so many others do? It keeps him happy to have provided what I cannot deliver without leaving my children and my work.” She smiles, showing fang tips. “Gods, child. How did you make this far in the world lacking such critical thinking skills?”

“You…” A warble in your voice, “…you’re supposed to be _nice_.”

Her eyes widen, then suddenly narrow. You see Kurloz doesn’t get his murderous glare from his father, but his mother.

“I am nice. I am kind. I am generous and loyal. For you see, dear child,” She leans over you, three inches from your face, “if I were _not_ these things, if I were not nice, kind, generous, and loyal, I would cull you. I would cull you from even _thinking_ you could take my place in my highblood’s vascular pump. That you even _thought for a single second_ that he would flush you the way he flushes me? He gave you little pictures? How cute. He painted me a mural in the delicious blood of those who challenged him. Fifty troll’s worth of _blood_ on the wall of his Mirthful Citadel: eight feet high, twelve feet across all for the glory of my body that he craved so motherfucking _badly_ ; and I was just the insubordinate slave of a pirate lord. And when he had me, I dug my claws into him and kept him close to find my son. I swore _fealty_ to the Messiahs and him. I _culled_ for him. And when he tried to take another for his red filial pail, I _ripped their throat out with my teeth_. That is how it was done back home. That is how it was done on _Alternia. Do you still think we’re on the same level?”_

She’s clenching her teeth. The fangs are sharp. Slowly, you shake your head. “N-no…”

And immediately she snaps back to her gentle, mothering nature. “I’m glad we understand each other. Now you have a choice.” She touches your hand and puts the bottle in it. “There’s no doubt in my mind that your sudden ‘stomach flu’ is a result of impregnation. If I were you, I’d get rid of it. You have such a bright future ahead of you and I’d be sad if you squandered it raising some grub whose father won’t _ever_ be around. And you can forget about your father helping you, dear. He’ll crush that egg the minute he’s laid. He hates my matesprit that much. And it’d be so… _awkward_ … to explain to my children they have yet another sibling. Kurloz hates his father so much and he won’t look favorably on that one either.”

You swallow. “W-what are you…? Would you…”

“Hurt an _innocent grub_?” She looks scandalized, “Of course not. This isn’t the wastes of Alternia and I’m not starving for food. But you know. Different generation and all that.” She walks from the room, “I leave you to your decision. Maybe it’s best not to tell me. I wouldn’t want to sway you in your judgment.”

You hear the smirk in her voice. You look at the bottle, filled with small emerald pills. The label says Cinrot; the emergency contraceptive pill. Taking it means no worries but also admitting to Dolorosa that you’re just another irresponsible young troll who’ll go home a weeping wreck like Kankri.

 

No.

Fuck that noise.

You leave the bottle on the table as a defiant ‘Fuck you!’ and sneak back to your trailer. 

 

* * *

 

You pay the porter the boons for a one way trip. Visiting Leder isn’t officially against the law but the UTC’s made it difficult. The only way there is on a cargo barge. You have everything in the bag you had for your trip: passport, boons, clothes, weapons, some other official documents, emergency food, travel guides, maps, and dictionaries. You’ve got a near mastery of basic New Mehican and a plan. You can’t go to the Brotherhood now but you can go to a church and work there.

Right now you just want to leave.

The porter tells everyone it’s now or never. You shuffle onto the barge, shoulder to shoulder with battered looking trolls, parents tugging skeletal children, and strung out humans. You go inside the giant storage containers, which have been modified for some level of comfort. There are mattresses and piles of old clothes to sleep on and at least there’s a hole in the floor for the lavatory with a raggedy curtain. It won’t offer much discretion but it’s something _._ You settle on a mattress and wrap your body around your luggage. You try not to think about the ticks and fleas in the mattress, or the kidnapped trolls that slept here. The walls in the container are padded; soundproofed so even if the abducted were screaming and banging on the walls they wouldn’t be heard.

You don’t fear finding out you’ve been shanghaied and taken to Bojangles or New Egypt to be sold. No one in this cargo would sell enough to offset the cost of the journey. It’s the only comforting thought you have. You shut your eyes and try to focus on the sounds of the ocean. 


	2. epilogue: he broke my heart. you merely broke my life.

**== >Be the Grand Highblood**

You get a message that someone’s here to talk to you. You hope it’s the fuchsia minx. You were only with her a few days ago and already you miss her. You go to the rarely used visitation center. On the other side of the glass is the mutantblood rebel. You grin, sit on the other side of the glass.

You grab the phone and talk into the receiver. “I never thought you’d come to visit your dear old ‘stepfather’.”

“Fuck you, you bulgebiting son of a bitch; I know what you’ve been doing with my daughter.” he growls.

You watch him calmly. His body language is raging. You’re thankful for the glass between you. “She’s an adult.”

“She’s fucking sixteen, you monster!” he growls, “And that shit is in the past. You can kiss getting out of here goodbye. I’m going to make sure they fucking _bury you_ in this shithole prison.”

“You…” you growl, “…you can’t do that.”

“Oh yes I fucking can. I’m blowing the whistle on all this shit. Once Snowman knows someone else knows about it, she’ll cut you off from your pretty little _fucktoys_.”

“This shit doesn’t have anything to do with you.” You’re growling louder, “You can‘t waltz in here and _dictate_ shit to me, you motherfucking mutant!”

“Oh, I definitely can.” There’s a sadistic grin on his face. “You will never see her ever again.” He says, ruling out another absolute; another inch of your life he’s snipping away. “And you will _rot_ in this place.”

_“You can’t do this, you fucker!”_

He leaves you while you’re raging. 


End file.
